


RETURNER

by comixologist



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Fingerfucking, Flashbacks, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nipple Play, Research, Size Difference, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comixologist/pseuds/comixologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>壊れるほど私を強く抱きしめて         Hold me tightly enough to break me<br/>もう一度逢えるなら夢の中でいい      In a dream is enough, if I can meet you again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	RETURNER

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daphnerunning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/gifts).



> Title and summary are from Gackt's "RETURNER ~Yami no Shuuen~".
> 
> Thanks to G for helping to make this treat happen.  
> ETA: I can't get this idea out of my head, so we may end up with a somewhat expanded/revised version in the near future.

Waver Velvet, after some number of hours that felt like centuries, leaned back in his chair and frowned down at the tome on the desk in front of him. Years ago, he had dedicated himself to survival and excellence, and now he felt on the edge of the world. The book in front of him was ancient and beautiful, bound in leather and wood with sheep’s gut and what was once buttery-smooth hand-made paper. It was written mostly in a northwestern dialect of pre-Koine Greek, and had been - Waver _knew_ when he’d found it at an estate sale, hidden at the bottom of a chest of letters kept in a secret room in the attic of a French collector of grimoires - the beginning of the end of Waver’s quest.

He was going to find a way to summon Iskander, outside of the Holy Grail War and without the Grail’s help. Waver had known, when he promised his King of Conquerors that he would live on, that seeing Iskander again would require him to meet all of his potential. He had spent month after month in training, struggling to hone his skills and increase his stamina. Any spell, Waver was certain, that was powerful enough to give Iskander the ability to return to his side would require a level of raw power and stamina at the upper edges of his ability. Waver’s dedication had seen him grow strong and versatile with magic, as he constantly worked to increase his mana pool and the efficiency of his spellcasting. Now, Waver was El-Melloi and on the verge of uncovering the key.

The strength of Waver’s connection with Iskander was vitally important, Waver had realized when his abilities had reached a certain level. When it was related to Iskander, more than once Waver had found himself almost compelled from step to step in his search, though progress between them often took vast stretches of time. Waver had felt sure that it was possible to bring Iskander out of whatever Elysium held him and into this world, with the ability to come and go as they pleased. He had searched with voracious intensity for anything that might lead him to his destination - by Iskander’s side - and each impossibility had crumbled before his efforts. 

Waver had been drawn to the book, and had no doubts that its purpose was to return Iskander to him and unleash them on the world. Even now, he knew that it held the answer. Even now, Waver could feel the rumble of Iskander’s laugh vibrating along his spine. The scents of sand, sweat, lightning and animal hides were all around him, filling up his nose and smothering his tongue. Waver hadn’t felt so close to Iskander since holding him. His certainty, and the need to see Iskander again, had fueled the fire of Waver’s ambition.

It had taken Waver nearly thirty-eight months to finish translating the text. On the surface the work had been relatively uninteresting, with only a few points of intersection between what was written and what Waver had needed. Most exciting had been the discovery of a sprinkling of veiled allusions to practice and theory in Egypt and the Fertile Crescent, especially with regards to communicating with the dead, hidden beneath a camouflage of metaphor and appropriation. There had also been some keen notes written along the margins by a scrawling hand in Latin script and a decidedly Venetian dialect, mostly about cadence in incantation and the way a certain verse or meter might weaken - or, Waver presumed, _enhance_ \- the efficacy of a “particular”, unnamed ritual. But for all that hints the text contained, Waver’s puzzle was not yet complete.

When Waver had exhausted the possibilities of the translation, he had begun searching it for cyphers, hidden letters, and riddles. He had been, and was still, convinced that the book itself held the key. The knowledge had settled on him with the same weight of Iskander’s hands on his shoulders. It simply wasn’t possible, Waver believed, that this book did not contain the key. He had examined the transcription errors, the ink-blots, and the arrangement of each on and across the pages.

In searching for patterns Waver had made great progress prying the symbolic components for the sigil from the voids and splatters across the pages, and the structure of the incantation from the peculiar twists of metaphor and simile that peppered the language. Even after so much work, after hours of pouring over his most recent discoveries, it was clear to him that something was still missing. Something was missing, but Waver had been through the book hundreds of times.

Slowly removing the clean cotton gloves he wore when handling the precious text, Waver tipped his head back and rolled his shoulders. Though the tension eased from Waver’s neck and back, the deep furrow between his brows didn’t relax. He felt so close, and the frustration of coming up against yet another wall was muddying his thoughts. Waver gently closed the book, turning it on the cloth it was normally wrapped in, and shifted forward again in his chair. Whatever he still needed had to be in this book; Waver could practically feel Iskander’s famous library rise up around him when he gazed on it. 

_There’s honor in using the simplest method._

The echo of Iskander’s laugh rang in Waver’s ears. Waver felt his cheeks burn, even now after having acquired so much knowledge and ability. He had to start over simply. More simply even than by reading the text, Waver had to reconsider the book entirely. With meticulous tenderness, he ran his gloved fingers over the wear in the cover’s leather. Though the pages sewn in were original, the book had clearly been re-bound more than once - Waver had known that when he’d acquired it. 

The heavy volume’s most recent restoration had been done sometime in the late sixteenth century, probably in Flanders, if the sturdy board-and-bind construction was anything to go by. The quality of the leather work was excellent. It must have been an expensive and painstaking process. Waver reverently shifted the book onto its spine, taking great care not to injure the book as he eased it open. Once it was spread out flat on its cloth again, Waver began with the beginning. The first page carried no title, but was inscribed, _To the Bold_. 

Lowering his face to hover just above the page seam, Waver closed his eyes and sniffed. Beneath the stitching that held the pages together, Waver could make out a very faint smell that presented as a fruity, bitter flavor at the back of his throat, hovering in the air above his tongue. He recognized it immediately as a type of paste that easily pre-dated the outer cover. Waver flicked a stray lock of hair over his shoulder, his eyes wandering from the seam to the thick cover and then back over the pages again.

 _Why is the binding so thick?_ Waver asked himself, even as he felt another piece of the puzzle slide into place. An excited twitch raced down Waver’s spine and along his left leg. He bounced one foot against the floor, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. A terrible realization shot through his mind, fully formed: _Open it._

Waver stood up, pulling the protective gloves from his hands, and he rubbed his palms over his face. He was tired, but the thrill that ran through him made it impossible for him to sit still or stop thinking about it. Iskander had encouraged him in taking the direct approach, had urged him to face his troubles head-on.

_Be direct._

Waver pushed his chair back and stepped back. He walked slowly around the desk once, then twice, running his hands through his hair as he wrestled with the decision. His hand shot into the satchel he’d leaned against the legs of his chair. He was seated at the desk again, with his gloves on and a small pen-knife in his hand, in an instant. Before he could give himself time to agonize over what he could be destroying, Waver uncapped the knife and plunged the blade into the leather binding’s seam.

Waver’s breath caught in his throat when he saw it, tucked between the leather and the wood, on the inside of the back cover. It was a piece of what looked like papyrus, and Waver was certain that if he looked at it too intensely it might turn to dust. The glyphs across it were faded and difficult to read, but Waver knew the characters.

“ _A drop of the Life of the Returner_.”

***

Waver climbed the stairs to his room two and three at a time, stretching his legs as long as he could. He’d barrelled out of his office in the Tower in a blur of red and gold, clutching his bag (his notes and the book’s remnants inside). There was an urgent burning in his chest that Waver knew was more desperate hope than shortness of breath.

Flinging open the door to his room, Waver practically dove into the closet. Hidden in the back of the, tucked into the bottom of a box of embarrassingly sentimental mementos he kept on the top shelf, was a large, sealed zip-top bag. Abandoning the half-open box to one side, Waver sank down to his knees on the floor. For a long moment he simply held the bag in his hands, before opening the bag.

A familiar, sharp smell wafted up from the bag. Waver reached in and delicately removed that huge video game t-shirt that Iskander had gotten himself. Kept in plastic as it had been, he shirt still smelled of sweat and beer, and something low and musky that made Waver’s heart race. It didn’t only smell like Iskander, it smelled like sex.

Unfolding the shirt carefully, Waver traced the logo with trembling fingers, but he knew that what he needed wasn’t there. What Waver was looking for - the key to bringing Iskander back to him - was a small, faint stain near the lower right hem on the shirt’s front. The instant Waver touched it something electric shot through his body, and he was momentarily overcome by a wave of memory.

***

Waver was still so small, at nineteen, that if Iskander wanted to keep him pinned to the floor, it only took a hand against his chest. They had been laying maps out and talking strategy, lounging close enough together that Waver could feel Iskander’s body heat, when Iskander had suddenly met his gaze and held him. Being pinned had surprised a yelp out of him, and made him blush. Waver had hated it then, that Iskander could make him blush. 

“There’s one more thing all young men should learn, boy,” Iskander said, his eyes warm and his voice a low, hot growl that made Waver feel young and self-conscious. “Before they can be soldiers.”

“S-something else?” Waver asked, his voice breaking softly. Iskander’s hand was huge and heavy against Waver’s chest, but it felt more gentle than restrictive, in spite of its weight. Iskander drew his thumb along Waver’s sternum, face breaking into a long, slow smile. 

“To be a man.” Iskander ran the fingers of his free hand through Waver’s hair with indulgent tenderness.

Waver made a small gasping sound, high in his throat and felt his blush spread across his nose, down his neck, and up to the tips of his ears. _Eromenos_. Waver remembered that particular part of the books he’d read on ancient Macedonian culture. He swallowed hard, unable to do anything but stare up into Iskander’s eyes.

“Easy, boy,” Iskander said gently. “Not all my conquests are violent.”

Waver couldn’t contain the short, sharp burst of nervous laughter that bubbled up out of his chest. He thought briefly, wide-eyed, about playing dumb, but knew that Iskander was planning. Waver’s breath hitched and he wet his lips, eyes darting over Iskander’s chest and up the line of his thick neck.

Iskander leaned in to kiss Waver with surprising gentleness, breathing a light but warm breath over Waver’s mouth before pressing his lips against him. Iskander kept his eyes open during as he kissed Waver, stroked his hair once more, and slid his hand slowly across his chest. 

Moving slowly and deliberately - giving Waver plenty of time to anticipate - Iskander cradled the young mage at small of his back and the nape of his neck. Iskander pulled Waver upright and lifted him as though he were a kitten, tugging him in close against his chest. Iskander’s hands were roughly calloused but sure, and Waver shivered at the feeling those large fingers tracing down the back of his neck. When Iskander increased the weight of his hand against the small of his back, Waver shifted up onto his knees.

Waver tipped his chin up and stroked the fingers of his left hand through Iskander’s beard and along the strong line of his jaw. He searched Iskander’s face, feeling his heart thump rapidly in his chest. Giving his beard a gentle tug, Waver was the one to initiate their second kiss. Iskander stilled, letting Waver enjoy just the slow, easy feel of their lips against one another. It was when Waver worked up the courage to swipe his tongue along Iskander’s lower lip that Iskander chuckled, and stopped holding back with his kisses.

Trying to prove his manhood to Iskander proved a bit of a difficult task for Waver. Iskander’s kisses were forceful, overwhelming in their intensity - like virtually everything else he’d experienced of Iskander. Waver worked to keep up with little nips and slower, easier kisses, but lost himself in sucking on Iskander’s tongue. The way Iskander moved it in his mouth made Waver think about sucking on something different, and the heat that had been slowly growing in his belly shot down his legs and along his spine. 

Waver shifted, pressing his hands to Iskander’s chest to leverage his weight. Iskander read his movement and pulled Waver onto him, so that he was straddling one of Iskander’s thickly-muscled thighs. Putting his hands out to steady himself against Iskander’s chest, Waver flared his fingers wide and brushed against one of Iskander’s nipples. Under him, Iskander arched slightly, suppressing a shudder. He drew in a deep breath, his massive chest expanding against Waver’s hands. Hiding his smile in another kiss, Waver relaxed against Iskander’s lips and lazily stroked his fingertips over the hardening nub under Iskander’s shirt. 

Iskander took the lead in the kiss, growling against Waver’s mouth. Waver pressed himself closer against Iskander, letting his hands wander down his chest and over his abs. Grabbing at the hem of Iskander’s shirt, Waver pushed the fabric up and out of the way as he spread his hands against Iskander’s chest. 

Iskander slid his fingers softly through Waver’s hair until he got the the ends and curled his fingers around the strands, tugging softly in retribution. Waver hissed and met Iskander’s eyes with the spark of passion in his gaze; he was too excited to be embarrassed. Waver rocked against Iskander’s thigh, muffling a groan against his shoulder and drawing his fingernails lightly across Iskander’s chest and over his nipples. 

Iskander let out that frustratingly-pleasant, rumbling laugh that made Waver’s breath hitch and ears turn pink, and slid one hand down to cup Waver’s ass. Iskander’s hand was broad and warm, with thick, strong fingers that made Waver feel small. Waver squeezed his eyes closed and gasped, burying his face against Iskander’s shoulder. He arched back against Iskander’s hand, practically grinding back against him, and surprised at just how _good_ it felt to be rubbed and handled by hands that were so large - and by Iskander in particular.

Sighing, Waver nuzzled his cheek against Iskander’s chest, and trailed his fingers over the lines of Iskander’s muscles.

“Yeah,” Iskander said, “that’s right,” and squeezed Waver’s ass again with one hand. He used that leverage to pull Waver closer to him, arching his hips at the same time to grind against Waver’s thigh. 

Experimentally, Waver tugged on one of Iskander’s nipples, the touch firm and maybe just slightly too rough. Beneath him, Iskander bucked sharply, his hardness sliding rough and thick (unmistakable even through their clothes) against the inside of Waver’s thigh. The sensation sent Waver from excited to needy, pulled a groan from somewhere inside of him that was hot and desperate. 

Iskander chuckled and again squeezed a fist-ful of Waver’s hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a hard kiss. During the course of the kiss Waver lost all track of time, distracted by Iskander’s tongue in his mouth and Iskander’s hand on his ass. Waver hadn’t been expecting such a strong reaction from toying with Iskander’s nipples. When he finally let Waver go, Iskander’s cheeks were flushed with satisfaction. The look on his face was warm and intense, unmoving from Waver’s face as Iskander arched his hips deliberately. Iskander pulled Waver forward against his hard-on, grinding against him even as he stretched out his fingers, reaching along the curve of Waver’s ass to rub the sensitive spot just behind his balls, through the fabric that separated them.

“A-aah!” Waver arched and bucked his hips forward, clutching at Iskander’s shoulders. Iskander’s fingers felt huge between his thighs; the width of them made Waver tremble. Closing his eyes against Iskander’s chest, breathing heavily, Waver kissed and nipped at Iskander’s nipples.

Iskander swallowed a breathless growl and ground himself up against Waver’s cock again, the head of his erection straining against the fly of his jeans. Waver took a shaky breath and tried to use Iskander’s broad chest to help him sit up again, but Iskander hooked his thumb under the waistband of Waver’s slacks and tugged. 

“Hey!” Waver shoved at him without much success. “Unbutton them first!” His cheeks went hot when he realized what he’d said.

Iskander chuckled, and fumbled at the buttons on Waver’s pants until Waver smacked his hands away, and unfastened them himself. 

“The _chiton_ is easier,” Iskander observed, and shoved Waver’s pants and underwear down around his thighs. 

Yelping, Waver tumbled forward, managing to catch himself by sliding his arms up, around Iskander’s neck; it left him with his back arched and his body exposed. Iskander’s hands slid slowly along Waver’s sides, over his hips, and along the backs of his thighs. Waver’s knees trembled, all his weight against Iskander.

Waver leaned up with his face flushed and mouth parted, feeling self-conscious and almost desperate for the comfort of another kiss. Iskander soothingly obliged. Iskander’s breath was coming as hard as Waver’s own, and his cheeks were hot beneath his coarse, ruddy beard. 

Leaning his head on Iskander’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath, Waver stroked his hands down Iskander’s chest. Again, Waver took his time sliding his fingertips over Iskander’s muscles, curling his fingers to draw his fingernails softly over Iskander’s swollen nipples. He could feel Iskander’s breath catch, and for a half a moment, those strong hands trembled slightly against Waver’s hips.

Withdrawing his hands, Iskander reached one big hand down and fumbled between their bodies in a way that made Waver shiver and thrust against him. Waver bit his lip at the sound the zipper made on the way down, and then Iskander’s hot, fat cock was out in the open and brushing against Waver’s own. 

Iskander took hold of both of them in his rough right hand, stroking in a long, slow motion. Waver shivered, the intensity of the friction sending what felt like jolts of lightning from the tip of his dick to the base of his skull. It was all Waver could do not to press his mouth against Iskander’s shoulder and sob.

“Under the mattress,” Waver said, breathlessly shooting a quick glance from Iskander’s face to the nearest corner of the bed. “There’s lotion.”

Iskander reached far to his left, and retrieved a tube of thick body cream. He unscrewed the cap with his thumb and let it drop, rolling off to the side as Iskander squeezed some of the lotion along the shaft of his cock. Iskander squeezed some of the lotion onto his hand, rubbing the cold, slick stuff over Waver’s cock as his hips twitched. Slowly, as though testing, Iskander stroked their dicks together, warming the lotion as he moved. Waver rolled his hips, trying to convince Iskander to move faster. Iskander didn’t let Waver set the pace, but twisted his thumb over the head of Waver’s cock and pulled a satisfied gasp from his lips.

Waver tugged on Iskander’s nipples in an attempt to regain some control, rubbing the edges of his areolas. Iskander grunted and his grip on them tightened, the pace suddenly increasing as his hips bucked up. Soon Waver was thrusting down and forwards, sliding his cock along Iskander’s hard-on and fucking into the hot, tight coil of his fist.

Iskander pressed one wide, slick finger along the cleft of Waver’s ass to draw tight circles around his entrance. It was so suddenly intimate to have Iskander’s hand against that part of him, that Waver stilled in his motions, just trembling between Iskander’s two hands - one still stroking their cocks together, and the other pressing him open. 

Waver could barely breathe. He clutched at Iskander’s arm, hiding his face against the big man. One finger was barely easing its way inside of him, and already Waver felt like he was coming apart. It wasn’t all that unpleasant, with the smooth, slow circles Iskander drew as he Waver open.

Iskander moved his hand again, slowing the pace of the hand around their cocks and sliding his finger in past the second knuckle. Waver felt hot tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. The sensation was so intense that even his smallest sounds were caught in his throat. Waver arched his head back, letting himself tremble over Iskander in helpless, utterly vulnerable desire. Iskander worked one, big finger slowly in, rocking it back and forth, slowly out and then in again.

Waver probably shouldn’t have been surprised when, after Iskander meticulously stretched him to the point where one finger slid easily in, a second finger pressed in alongside the first, just as slow and excruciatingly careful. Waver had thought that the sensation of being opened and filled couldn’t possibly get any more overwhelming but soon he found himself keening and desperate, trying to push back against Iskander’s hand, only to have Iskander’s slow stroking bring him bucking forward again. 

“That’s good,” Iskander said, with gentleness that belied the way he was driving Waver completely crazy. “You can come whenever you want.”

Waver couldn’t quite wrap his mouth around his words, instead whimpering against Iskander’s collar bone and breathing in the smell of the sweat on his skin.

“Now?” Iskander asked, his voice husky and a little ragged. Iskander crooked those two, huge fingers inside Waver, pressing into a sweet spot that sent his body into spasms.

“ _Rider!_ ” Waver slumped forward, his orgasm leaking from his cock in three shuddering gasps and dropping across the fabric of his pants. Iskander twisted his fingers more tightly around his own cock, tugging it in short, rough jerks. Iskander’s muscles tensed and relaxed in waves, the muscles along his ribs twitching until one long, fat stream of cum shot from Iskander’s cock over his belly. 

Iskander cupped Waver’s cheek and kissed him again, briefly, before he yawned like a lion and smiled. As leaned against each other, recovering, Iskander tugged his t-shirt down, thoughtlessly wiping his hand off on the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re taking that off, so I can wash it,” Waver had said, and hidden it without admitting to himself that he was doing anything other than putting off the chore.

***

Waver drew in a sharp, shuddering breath. The memory had been so intense, so perfectly vivid, that it took him a long moment to recover. Waver’s whole body trembled as he held the shirt up close to his face. The silk-screened cotton was soft against his cheek. For a long moment, Waver closed his eyes and pressed his nose into the fabric. He inhaled deeply, taking careful inventory of each layer of scent, each sensation, each aspect of the vision; crystallizing the memory to fix it in his mind forever.

He couldn’t, no matter how important the memento was to him, abandon his quest. Not when he felt so sure that _this_ was the key. That had to be the reason for the sudden ferocity of the flashback, the way it wracked his body and left him gasping for air. Iskander was going to return to him. _Tonight_. Waver would make it happen. He had the sigil, the ritual, and the relic. He knew what he had to do. 

Even before he’d finished the incantation, Waver felt Iskander’s breath on his neck and arms around him.


End file.
